


And the Angel Raphael Spake Thusly

by the_moonmoth



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Backstory, Based on a Tumblr Post, Crowley you incorrigible moron, Fanon, Gen, Humor, I mean about as shippy as the show, M/M, Or like anti-fanon?, kind of cracky, not really shippy, that I couldn't stop laughing over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 10:41:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19810597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_moonmoth/pseuds/the_moonmoth
Summary: “Look, human,” Crowley sighed. “Do you want your sodding miracle or not?”





	And the Angel Raphael Spake Thusly

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this post](https://themoonmothwrites.tumblr.com/post/186290555368/but-has-anyone-considered) on Tumblr. I don't know, don't look at me...
> 
> ETA: made a tiny edit as I realised I'd missed a trick. You know, because what's a crack fic without a bit of _thoroughness_?

Crowley plucked at the white robe hanging from his shoulders with dismay.

“You really need to update your look once in a while,” he told Aziraphale. “It’s the 3000’s for Hell’s sake.” That was, it had been over a 1000 years since She created the Garden of Eden. “Why _are_ we counting backwards, anyway?” he wondered. “What happens when we get to zero? Never mind, don’t answer that, I probably don’t want to know.”

Luckily, Aziraphale _wasn’t_ going to answer that. Aziraphale wasn’t going to say anything at all. Aziraphale was currently lying face down on a bed in his angelic undergarments, blind drunk and snoring.

“Why am I even doing this?” Crowley muttered to Aziraphale’s back, watching it rise and fall with spite in his heart. It was so smooth and touchable-looking. Yep, definitely spite. “Oh, right, because you’re the only angel I’ve ever met who’s even half-way bearable, and if you mess this up because you were too bloody stupid to sober up before you passed out, I’ll get stuck with some utter tosspot like Uriel. No thanks.”

The things he did for his… enemy.

***

“I’m just saying,” said the human, with the air of dogged determination to get answers that Crowley might have admired under other circumstances, “why the black wings? Angel of the Lord and all that, I would’ve thought you’d be all, you know, pearly white. _Glowy_.”

“So sorry to disappoint.” Crowley scowled.

“You can’t go wrong with _glowy_. ‘S a classic.”

“Not exactly stylish, though, is it,” Crowley said. The human ignored him.

“Black, though. I mean. With a white robe? I mean to _say.”_

“Look, human,” Crowley sighed. “Do you want your sodding miracle or not?”

“Wurl,” the human said, chewing it over with a judicious look up and down Crowley’s person. "It is for my child, you know. Got the sickness an' all. Gotta think carefully here, can't just have any old... wingèd... man-shaped being possibly getting it wrong."

Crowley sighed. He’d done the _be ye not afraid_ thing. He’d done the booming voice thing. He’d even tried -- and in retrospect, yes, this had been a mistake -- the _reasoning with_ thing. Humans in general were amazingly clever and wonderfully ingenious, and Crowley loved being among them on Earth, but there was no accounting for individuals, and this individual was a heavenly pain in his less-than-heavenly arse.

“Any time today,” he muttered.

“How do I even know you’re a real angel?” the human said, narrowing their eyes at him in a way they no doubt thought was sagacious. “Ain’t never heard of an angel with black wings. For all I know, you could be an agent of Satan in disguise.”

Crowley laughed nervously. “Don’t be-- An agent of-- What complete--!”

“So why ain’t I heard of you, then?”

Grinding his teeth, Crowley wondered who he should pray to these days for patience. Probably no one. Wasn’t exactly a demonic trait. He had to admit, though, the human possibly had a point. And was watching him expectantly. Crowley realised an answer was required.

“Ah,” he said. “Well,” he said. “That’s because… I’m… a very special angel.”

“Oh?” said the human.

“Yes!” said Crowley, inventing madly. “My wings are black because… uh… because I, yes, because I made the heavens, which are also black.”

“Wurl, sometimes they’re blue, or purple, or--”

“ _WHICH ARE ALSO BLACK!_ And I am here to grant you your miracle. So can you, just, cower mortal? So we can get this over with?”

“I ain’t never heard of an angel who made the heavens,” the human said, inconveniently. “What’s your name, then?”

Crowley tried to smile with something less than murder in his eyes as he thought frantically. “Az-- um, no. Zir--. Uh, Raphale.”

“The angel Raphael?” the human said dubiously. 

“Actually, I said--” Crowley started, then thought better of it. “Never mind.”

“Never heard of you,” the human added.

“What do you-- Never _heard_ of me?” Crowley said madly. “Human, let me tell you a story or two…”

***

Aziraphale smiled earnestly over the inn’s rickety little table. “I really-- really can’t thank you en--”

“No _seriously,_ ” Crowley said morosely. “Don’t mention it.”

“I, well, okay,” Aziraphale said solicitously. “But, how did it go? The child is perfectly well again? No, no,” he said, holding up his hand to forestall further protest, “I’m not asking for details. I just need to know if, you know, if everything went off smoothly. Nothing I need to, ah, explain away in my report to Upstairs?”

“Ahhh,” Crowley said. “Uhhh. All right, but you have to promise not to smite me.”


End file.
